


Style

by vitamindesi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barista Castiel, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Famous Dean, Infidelity, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 13:13:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3489548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vitamindesi/pseuds/vitamindesi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sorta loosely based off the song "Style" by Taylor Swift. Dean's in a band. Castiel works at Starbucks. What begins as a fleeting meet-and-run grows into an eventual relationship in between text messages, paparazzi and one giant miscommunication.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Style

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't beta'd. I was driving one day and realized I could turn a T-Swift song into Destiel so I took the idea and ran with it.

They first met at a Starbucks. Castiel was cleaning the bathrooms with slow hands, reveling in the quiet that overtook the coffee shop after the lunch rush. It was always chaotic, a rush of suits and teachers, trying to get their caffeine fix for the last half of the day.

Apparently though, the quiet was destined to be short lived. From outside, a dull roar was growing louder and louder, until Castiel could make out the shrieking of what sounded like a crowd of young girls. The front door slammed open and Castiel jolted, dropping the toilet brush on the floor. Just as he was trying to leave the bathroom, a solid body barreled into him. There was a slight scuffle, the sound of panting and then the door was slammed shut so hard, a gust of wind hit Castiel.

“What the hell?” he growled, righting his glasses.

A man had his back to the door, panting hard. Castiel blinked. Oh. A very attractive man. His hair was wind swept, and there was a small trickle of sweat sliding down the column of his neck. His eyes opened suddenly and he regarded Castiel quietly. “Hi,” he said, grinning widely. And, oh God, his teeth. It was the brightest smile Castiel had been witness to.

So naturally, all that he was able to get out was, “what are you doing in here?”

“Hiding.”

“From?” Castiel stressed the word, trying to figure out what was going on.

The man snorted, running a hand through his hair. Under his white T-shirt, his biceps bulged, and Castiel felt himself unconsciously licking his lips. “You don’t know me?”

Rolling his eyes, he replied, “obviously not.”

The man hummed under his breath, closing his eyes again. “Dean Winchester,” he finally said. “Lead singer of the band, _Of The Cat’s Cradle_?”

Castiel pursed his lips. “Mmm, nope. That doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Damn,” Dean mumbled under his breath, shaking his head. “Well, I’m hiding from a gang of rabid fangirls.”

“I’m certain they’re not rabid. I’d imagine we’d have an epidemic by now.”

“Are you always this literal?”

“Are you always this conceited?”

They stared at each other for a few moments. Castiel couldn’t shake the gaze. His green eyes were bright, piercing. He had a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose and barely there laughter lines around his mouth.

Suddenly Dean reached forwards and snatched the black frames right off of Castiel’s face. “Can you see without these?” His question was childish, and Castiel had to fight not to reprimand him like one.

“What the hell?” Castiel cried. “Give those back!”

“Ya know, you’re pretty cute without those on your face...not that you weren’t cute to begin with.” Dean smirked at him.

Castiel bristled, crossing his arms. The bathroom was beginning to feel cramped. “I am not one of your fangirls. You can’t seduce me.”

Dean leered at him. “Wanna bet?” He took a step forward. Castiel stepped backwards. It was only three more steps before he had his back to the wall between the paper towel dispenser and the sink. Dean’s breath was sweet, cloying. Up close, Castiel could see the small freckles in those green eyes, dancing with humor and another emotion that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Cool hands ran up his arms, making Castiel shiver. On the clock, he was still on the clock. He fought to remember why they were even in the bathroom to begin with. Dean’s fingers brought goosebumps to his skin.

As his face inched closer to Castiel’s, he realized he was holding his breath, struggling to remember if he had to force his lungs to work. When Dean’s face was just a mere inch away from his own, a phone rang, and Castiel jerked back, hitting his head against the wall.

Dean coolly leaned away, and pulled a phone from his pocket. “Yeah?...You got rid of them? Sweet Jesus, thank you. Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute. Lemme just...collect myself.” He ended the call and winked at Castiel. “Saved by the bell, my friend.” He narrowed his eyes, finally seeming to notice the name badge on his shirt. “Castiel, eh? Well...I’ll just have to see you later then, huh?” he slipped the glasses back over the bridge of Castiel's nose.

“You probably won’t,” he shrugged, coming back to his senses all at once. He could feel the beginnings of an embarrassed blush crawling up his neck. He wasn’t easy. Not even for a famous sex god; he wasn’t easy.

Dean winked at him. “You sound so sure of that. Let’s put a ‘to be continued’ stamp on this.”

Castiel blinked at him. “You should leave.”

* * *

 

Two months had passed and Castiel had barely thought about the incident with the strange man in the bathroom of Starbucks, claiming to be a famous band member. He continued his full time work at Starbucks, coming home to his sister and a cooked dinner. The evenings were quiet, their mornings just as busy as they bumped around one another, trying to get ready for their respective jobs.

It wasn’t until he was sitting in the break room, idly watching the entertainment channel, that he realized he wasn’t lied to. On the screen was a man who undoubtedly was Dean Winchester. He was dodging another person, arms in a determined swing. The voice over was a newscaster, talking excitedly. “Dean Winchester was sighted today wearing an Armani suit and...steel-toe boots? The man may have come a close second to the Hottest Man of the Year but he does have a questionable sense of fashion. Rumors have it that he’s writing again, though nothing has been confirmed. The question is, since he broke up with his long-time girlfriend, Lisa Braeden, will he have another muse for his songs? It’s widely known that she...”

Castiel’s mouth hung open, trying to process the information thrown at him. Dean was famous. He’d nearly kissed a famous person in a Starbucks bathroom, and then brushed him off like he was shit on a shoe.

While Castiel may have nearly forgotten the incident, Dean hadn’t stopped thinking about it. It took a month for Lisa to complain that all he was doing was writing and practicing with Benny, Sam, and Adam. They hadn’t had sex in- God, Dean didn’t even care, he stopped listening when her rant motivated another potential chorus in his mind. She shrieked at him when he pulled the ever-present notepad from his jeans and started scribbling. But Dean was a champion at tuning out shrieking. How else would he be able to play at shows?

He couldn’t get the dorky guy with gravity defying hair and nerdy glasses out of his mind. A week later, Lisa left the house with a slam of the door, their bedroom ravaged and messy from her quickly removing her belongings.

When Sam asked how he was handling the breakup, he’d merely shrugged and said, “Let’s play. We’ve got that special show with AltNation listeners next week. I want this new song to completely take them by surprise, in the best of ways.”

Benny nodded seriously from behind the keyboards. Adam twirled his drumsticks idly. Sam clenched his teeth, fingers tapping nervously across his base. He couldn’t figure out what had gotten into Dean. He and Lisa were attached at the hip and then….what? A hoard of fangirls suddenly changed his mind about his girlfriend of two years? Something had definitely happened in Lawrence, Kansas. Now he just had to figure it out.

* * *

 

Another month went by. Castiel was successfully removing remnants of Dean from his mind. He’d met another guy, Blake. They’d been on a few dates, groped each other through a movie. It didn’t seem to be going anywhere, but he was fun, and he ensured that Castiel wasn’t thinking for at least a few hours every time they saw each other.

And then, in whirlwind of the lunch rush again, Dean was back. He was doning a heavy black jacket, a grey scarf, reflective aviators and a slouchy hat. “What can I get for you today?” Castiel asked, trying not to sound bored.

His fingers hovered over the touchpad and then, “well, I sure as hell would love a tall glass of you.” He jolted, looking up. The aviators were lifted for a moment and green eyes winked at him. _Those_ green eyes. Unmistakably, Dean Winchester was standing in front of Castiel again.

“Um,” he swallowed. “I-um. What was that?”

Dean chuckled, a low throaty sound that made Castiel’s skin crawl in a delightful way. “Get me a venti caramel soy macchiato. Give me enough whipped cream to make a child weep.” He proceeded to hand Castiel a hundred dollar bill. “Change is yours,” he lifted his glasses to wink again.

With shaking hands, Castiel prepared the beverage, nearly spraying the countertop with whipped cream. He went to hand Dean his drink, and Dean reached forward, a slip of paper in his hand. He reached over the counter to slide it into the front pocket of Castiel’s apron.

“Thanks, Cas,” he said, sauntering out of the store.

Cas?

Throughout the rest of his shift, he could feel that paper in his pocket, burning a hole through him. But he refused to look at it on the clock, god forbid someone see and try to figure out what it was.

Hell, he wasn’t even sure he wanted to know what it was.

But ten pm finally rolled around, and Castiel was tiredly pulling his apron off in his car. The soft _schick_ of paper against itself jolted him into remembering that Dean had given him something. He quickly wrenched it out the pocket and unfolded it to reveal a ticket and a handwritten note.

_The show is in two weeks. It’s a private one, five fans won it. My manager won’t care if there’s a sixth. See you then_

_xx_

Castiel gawped. The show was in Topeka, not far from Lawrence. His glasses nearly flew off his face as he shook his head violently, trying to shake himself from what appeared to be a dream. He opened his eyes. The note and ticket were still there.

The drive home was a surreal one and he kept glancing at the passenger seat, ensuring that the note and ticket hadn’t disappeared.

The moment he got home, he went straight to his room, ignoring Anna’s question of if he wanted tea. He didn’t. He wanted to put the note and ticket somewhere safe, somewhere they wouldn’t get lost.

Under his bed were an array of things. A shoebox held plugs, vibrators and an assortment of lube. Another shoebox held all of his A+ papers from high school and his one semester of college. And then there was a batman lunchbox, sitting innocently in the far corner. He grabbed it, snapped it open and put the note and ticket inside of it. He shut it, and shoved it back. He programmed the date of the show in his phone and then went back out to see Anna.

She was staring at him curiously, her own cup of tea a few inches from her face. “What’s up, space cadet?” she asked playfully.

Castiel rolled his eyes. Anna was adopted before he was by their parents. It was obvious, if her stark red hair and green eyes were any indication at all. She was a good big sister, agreeing to move in with him when things with Aaron went downhill, and he realized he couldn’t foot the rent alone. “I’m good,” he replied. “Just a long day at work. And I’m craving mac and cheese.”

Anna laughed, the sound tinny from her mug. “Good thing you’ve got tomorrow off, isn’t it?”

Castiel couldn’t help thinking about the note and the array of toys under his bed. He blushed. “Good thing, indeed,” he muttered.

* * *

 

“He’s more nervous than usual, isn’t he?” Adam asked, nudging Sam.

Sam nodded absently. “Right? It’s only five people, I dunno what his damage is.”

Benny clapped Sam hard on the shoulder, jarring his whole body. “He didn’t seem to sleep well last night. But, _man_ , look at him flirting away with the coordinator! He can’t be too far off his game!”

It was true. Dean was standing weirdly close to the program coordinator, who was clutching her clipboard like a safety raft as she leaned in closer to Dean, giggling into her hand at whatever it was he just said. He had that flirtatious look in his eye that suggested he’d be taking someone to bed very soon.

Maybe that’s why he wasn’t very upset when Lisa left, Sam thought. Maybe he missed exercising his ability as a lady killer. It didn’t make sense though, not logically. He’d been so devoted to Lisa, determined to stay loyal. He didn’t want a reputation, he’d said. Sam watched as Dean laid a gentle hand on the program coordinator’s arm. He snorted to himself. Yeah, sure. He didn’t want the reputation.

The new song Dean had written was an absolute hit. He sang with every bit as much passion as he sang everything else, the lyrics cutting right to the heart, paired with Benny’s light keyboard.

_Blue eyes that could kill a man,_

_Don’t you know what you do to me?_

_You don’t see this smile_

_All I want is to stay awhile_

_Don’t you want that too?_

_Just ask me if I’m free._

The blue eyes line had confused Sam at first. Who the fuck had blue eyes that Dean knew? When asked about it, Dean only shrugged, saying, “blue eyes just seems like a nice, poetic fit.”

Yeah, sure.

Of course the fans were ecstatic after the show. They chatted with the whole band, taking pictures and grinning wildly and going on about how their friends ‘will never believe them’. There was one odd one, which was to be expected. He was quiet, not asking much, mostly just tilting his head to the side every now and then, staring hard at Dean. If Sam didn’t know any better, he’d assume that the man was looking to jump Dean the moment that he could. But really, he just looked a little bit lost, as though he’d called in to request a song and ended up winning an extra ticket to a private show.

As the band packed up their gear, Dean ushered Castiel to the far back of the stage, in between curtains. They were pressed close together, so not to disturb the rippling fabric and draw eyes. Dean smelt of sweat and cologne; passion wrapped in a masculine viel.

“What’d you think?” he asked breathlessly.

Castiel chewed on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. “Blue eyes?” he finally asked.

Dean grinned. “Shut the fuck up.”

And then he leaned in, and kissed Castiel. He was confused for a moment, unsure of what to do. Dean Winchester was kissing him. Was this real life? His focus narrowed down to the soft feel of Dean’s lips over his own, his stubble slightly scratching Castiel’s cheek. A clammy palm was clasped around the back of his neck. Dean tilted his head just slightly, deepening the kiss with a swift lick of his tongue. Castiel gasped. _Was this real life?_

Finally, Dean drew away, and Castiel caught the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Dean’s pupils were large, lust-dark, and he licked his lips hungrily, as though he were contemplating going in for another kiss. “How was that?” he asked instead.

Castiel could only stare at him, foggy-eyed and trying to catch up with the event.

“I gotta go,” Dean finally said. He swooped in for a final kiss, catching Castiel’s mouth between gentle lips, warm tongue probing. He broke away with a gasp, and then suddenly Castiel was alone in the curtains. When he finally emerged, the program coordinator was looking at him with an agitated look on her face that suggested he’d disappeared for quite some time.

The drive home took longer than the drive to get to the show. Castiel drove slowly and carefully, afraid that if he let his mind wander too much, he’d crash his car.

He went through the next week in a daze, dropping drinks at the bar and forgetting the tab for soy milk. He couldn’t stop replaying the kiss over and over in his head, trying to remember every detail, every slip of Dean’s tongue against his own, his breath playing against his face. It was intoxicating.

It wasn’t until his boss reprimanded him that Castiel realized he was daydreaming about a man he wasn’t likely to ever see again. Dean had only given him a ticket because he was in the area. Castiel was likely to only be another notch in Dean’s bedpost.

He was sure of it.

* * *

 

Her name was Candi. Brandi? It ended with a stupid I, Dean knew that much. He also knew that she had her hand down his pants and was giving him a handjob of epic proportions. Her lips were soft against his neck and she was moaning quietly. It sounded slightly forced, but Dean fondled her breast a little bit more; the sound seemed to get more real after that.

Quite frankly, he was drunk as a skunk.C(B)randi was a groupie who scored a backstage pass. Sam and the others had left early after the show to go hang out in the bus and kick back after their awesome set. Dean hung back to see if he could get laid (like every single show, Sam thought).

Dean didn’t initially go into the career looking for women. He liked making music with his friends, writing songs and learning to detangle the melodies that clogged up his brain. When a producer snuck into one of their local gigs, their lives changed forever. They all signed on for a five year contract and suddenly they were being featured on popular radio stations. Within a year, they had another album and a tour date. They had fans, and apparel and interviews left and right. It was a whirlwind of insanity and Dean found himself up until three am some nights, just trying to write lyrics down before they were lost forever.

Really, the women (and occasional men) were a bonus to what he already loved to do. And he coincidentally loved sex as well. The fact that suddenly more people were willing to have it with him was merely awesome. He remembered seeing the disappointment on all his small town fans when they realized that the band likely wouldn’t be coming back to perform at the Roadhouse ever again. He remembered girls clamoring for everyone’s autograph, begging to pet Benny’s hair or run a hand through Sam’s hair. Adam had such a babyface though; everyone wanted a picture with him.

When he met Lisa, they immediately clicked. They had a strange give and take, a push/pull to their relationship. It was like a sexy game of tug of war. The rest of the band seemed to like her well enough and Dean thought that maybe forever was a possibility with her. He could handle turning down groupies if it meant coming home to her.

And then she got possessive, complaining about his writing hours, how long he spent practicing and the length of tours. They were already neck and neck when she finally called it quits. He didn’t even bother fighting it because it was clear she didn’t want to stay in the first place.

Candi/Brandi gave a particularly skilled twist of her wrist and Dean shot off like a bottle rocket, his whole body clenching, his orgasm tearing through him. He gasped, scrabbling to hold her, to do something as his eyes rolled back.

When he finally came back down, she gave him a peck on the lips, carefully removed her hand from his pants and then stood up. She adjusted her dress, winked at him, and then walked out of the room, steady as ever atop her stilettos.

Dean blinked, his brain sluggishly trying to catch up with the events that just took place. Usually he was the one scrambling to get away after a hook up. Hell, usually he took his time to get his partner off too! She took the opportunity right from his hands.

Rude.

He managed to slouch his way back to the bus, shifting uncomfortably as the jizz in his pants cooled off and began to stick to his legs. The guys merely lifted a hand from the poker game when he came in. He shook his head and went for a shower.

Really, at this point, hooking up with people just seemed like an obligation. Send someone home with a tale of hooking up with Dean Winchester after a show. No one would believe them because no one ever had the forethought to bring their phone out, and by the time they remembered, Dean was long gone.

* * *

 

When the new album from _Of The Cat’s Cradle_ dropped, Castiel couldn’t help it anymore. He went to the nearest F.Y.E and bought it before work one day. As he sat in his car waiting for his shift, he carefully observed the album art. It was a picture of tabby cat, with a jingly collar around its neck. The album title was _Looks That Kill_. He opened it and skimmed through the leaflet. He frowned when he came across the back of it which listed the producers, etc, to find a small bit of print beneath it all. In what looked like scrawled handwriting, it said, _dedicated to C_.

C. Now that was interesting. If he were a conceited fangirl who thought the world revolved around them, he may have momentarily believed that it was to him.

But that didn’t make any sense. So he threw the thought away and tied his apron on for the night.

Blake texted him a few times through his shift, asking if he’d like to go to a movie later in the week, accompanied by a winky face. Castiel sighed tiredly. He was right in assuming Blake would get boring very quickly. All he really wanted was to have sex. Castiel wanted to know what his favorite colors were and if he preferred sunrise over sunset.

As he was contemplating over which he would personally prefer, he was interrupted by a rather loud customer complaining that there was no more toilet paper in the mens restroom. “I’ll be with you in just a moment sir, please be patient,” Castiel said coolly, digging the toilet paper out from the back.

He quickly changed it; the motions had become monotonous after his first two weeks. As he was turning around, he heard the door click shut and lock behind him. He straightened quickly, only to be confronted by the one and only Dean Winchester.

His breath left him in a gasp.

Dean only smirked at him and stepped forward. “I missed you,” he murmured.

“Y-you don’t even know me,” Castiel stuttered, his voice weak.

“Maybe I wanna change that,” Dean caressed a cool hand up his arm. “Wanna catch a movie?”

Castiel swallowed. “I-I’m working.”

Dean shrugged. “Tell ‘em you just puked. They won’t want you here anymore.”

“Do you prefer sunset or sunrise?” he blurted, and then smacked a hand over his mouth. He was sure he just shot whatever interest Dean had in him with a single-

“You know, no one’s ever asked me that. I like sunset. It’s like the turning of a page. Smoother than silk, it is.”

Castiel sighed, dropping back against the wall. “Um...I’ll...meet you outside?” he breathed.

Dean leaned forward a dropped a gentle kiss to his mouth, catching Castiel’s next exhale. “It’s a plan,” he grinned.

Castiel staggered out of the bathroom and caught his boss behind the counter. “I...I just threw up,” he managed. He looked haggard anyways, Dean startling a bright flush across his face and beads of sweat over his forehead.

His manager grimaced. “Get out of here, Novak. I’ll clock you out. Feel better.”

Castiel nodded absently as he left the store.

In the parking lot, Dean was leaning against a sleek black car, his arms crossed over his chest. “What do you say I follow you home, and then we can find something to make out through?”

Castiel could only nod.

In the end, he wasn’t even aware of what movie they went to see. Dean caught his hand when he went for his wallet and smoothly paid for both of their tickets. They skipped the line at the food service, even though popcorn was Castiel’s favorite. Dean tugged him into the furthest corner of the theater in the back.

The movie began in a blaze of bullets and fire but before Castiel could even get too engrossed, Dean’s hand moved gently across his face, turning his just slightly to the left. Dean’s eyes were bright with the reflection of the movie in them. He had the smallest of grins on his face as he leaned forward to capture Castiel’s lips between his own.

Their kiss began gently, soft and chaste. Castiel threw away his own concerns about his kissing abilities though, and deepened the kiss. He felt Dean’s face smear across his glasses as his head tilted, accommodating as their tongues brushed ever slightly. Castiel gasped at the contact, and Dean took the chance to suck on his tongue ever so lightly, eliciting a low groan in his chest.

Castiel wasn’t sure how long they made out for. Dramatic voices were their background music, explosions and cries for help. Dean’s hand laid across his thigh, fingers twitching ever so slightly, as though he was fighting a temptation. Castiel groaned again at the thought, and Dean pulled away a little bit, their lips still connected just slightly and said, “Shh, it’s okay. You gotta be quiet, man. Shh.”

Castiel nodded and leaned back to continue kissing, and he felt Dean’s hand crawl up his leg just a little bit, but it was enough to send even more blood rushing downwards, his erection straining against the button of his jeans.

Dean moved away and kissed down and across Castiel’s neck. His head fell back a little bit, reveling in the smooth lips trailing their way across his skin. Dean licked gently across the shell of his ear, causing a shudder to run down his spine. “Can I, Cas?” he asked softly. His fingers were playing with the button of his jeans now. Castiel could only manage a jerky nod in response.

Dean’s hands were fast now, deftly unfastening his pants and helping Castiel wriggle his hips to free him. The cool air was startling, his cock twitching in protest. Dean’s warm hand enveloped him though, sending sparks flying behind Castiel’s eyelids. Or that could have just been a timely explosion from the movie. He couldn’t bring himself to care as Dean began to gently stroke him. The movements were small, careful, but still enough to make him leak precome as he desperately thrust his hips, trying to get Dean’s hand to move faster.

Dean laughed a little bit in his ear. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Just let me, okay?” Again, Castiel gave a tentative nod.

It was hard to fight his body’s urge to speed things up, to let himself pop off like a rocket in Dean’s grasp. But Dean took care of him, just like he said he would. Soft, kiss-slicked lips sucked lightly at his collarbone, nibbling every now and again, eliciting a gasp from Castiel. Each small nibble was accompanied by a small, perfunctory twist of Dean’s wrist. Precome had now entirely slicked his way, making it easier for his hand to speed up to a marginally more pleasurable pace.

Castiel was thrusting into Dean’s hand in earnest now, biting his lip to keep from moaning out loud. He struggled and found himself tightly grasping Dean’s other arm, fingernails digging into the skin, nearly breaking it.

And then Dean’s mouth was back at his ear, whispering dirtily, “come for me Cas. I wanna watch you fall apart.”

With a muted cry, Castiel shuddered, and allowed himself release. Come drooled over Dean’s fingers and hand, cooling on his boxers. Dean stroked him through his orgasm before carefully tucking him back in his boxers, wiping the come off of his hand. He helped Castiel zip up as they settled back into their seats again.

Just as Castiel went to turn to ask Dean if he could return the favor, the lights slowly came back on overhead. Dean must have seen Castiel’s look because he kissed him lightly and winked. “Next time, babe.”

He adjusted himself in his pants and put his aviators and slouchy hat back on, effectively disguising his face and keeping him out of the prying eyes of fans.

Castiel carefully got up, wincing at the stickiness in his pants. There was a large smudge across his glasses, obscuring his vision in his left eye. He couldn’t shake the thought though.

Next time? Would there be a next time?

* * *

Castiel was distracted over the next few weeks. Anna brought it up to him when she caught him staring out the window for five minutes, his coffee mug held mere inches from his face. Charlie brought it up to him when he zoned out during their weekly skype call, not even hearing her make up all kinds of accusations until she finally yelled, “Cas!”, jolting him from whatever it was he was thinking about. His shift manager caught him staring blankly at a wall during a lull of business and asked him what was on his mind.

Dean Winchester, that’s what was on his mind. His flirtatious grins and eyes that seemed to be full of daydreams bigger than he. The way the sun caught on his hair that day in the store, radiating bright gold in a halo over his head. The way he answered Castiel’s out of place question about sunsets with a small smile and quirk of his eyebrow.

Of course, he couldn’t tell anyone about this. They’d merely think he was crazy. Dean Winchester spent most of his time running from fans and writing music in between shows and practice. No one would believe that he’d managed to track Castiel down at one of the many Starbucks stores in Kansas. No one would believe that Castiel was worth tracking down, really. He was sure of at least that much.

So he told Anna that he just hadn’t been sleeping well. He told Charlie that he thought he might have a stomach bug and had to sign off. He told his shift manager that he was pondering the idea of going to a museum for his next day off.

He hated lying.

He wondered if Dean was thinking about him, if Dean-

His phone buzzed on his side table.

Castiel flinched. It was nearly eleven pm. Even Charlie was in bed already, if she was planning on going to her classes in the morning.

_I can’t stop thinking about your lips._

Castiel couldn’t help the gasp. No way. No way had Dean Winchester found his phone number.

_How’d you get my number?_

Dean was the only person he’d kissed aside from Blake. Dean was the only person that this mystery number could be.

_You should fix your Facebook settings. Pretty unique name you got, it wasn’t hard to find your account._

Castiel scrambled out of bed to open his laptop. With a few clicks he found that, sure enough, his phone number was visible to just about anyone. After fishing around the security settings, he fixed it nearly immediately.

_Your profile pictures are incredibly adorable._

_Awww, why’d you lock me out?_

Castiel snorted.

Not like I can add you as a friend. That would weird everyone out and then the fangirl’s eye would be on me as well.

_You’re right. Gotta keep everyone else’s eye off you._

_Why? You planning on keeping me?_

Castiel hurled his phone across the room, watching it bounce harmlessly off the wall. Why had he sent that? What compelled him to send that message? Not only was it creepy as hell that Dean Facebook stalked him, but now Castiel decided to proposition him? What was he thinking?

Across the room, his phone buzzed at him. He carefully tiptoed across the room, as though his phone were a rogue bomb waiting to go off.

_Yeah, I kind of am._

Dean began to text him in earnest from then on, occasional pictures from their shows, of his band mates and places they were traveling to. They never had straight forward text conversations. Oftentimes, the messages were sprawled through the day. When Castiel got a chance to look at his phone, Dean was at practice. When Dean got a chance to look at his phone, Castiel was already asleep. It was an odd push and pull between them, but one morning, Castiel woke to a text that said,

_I miss you._

It tore at his heart, and for the first time, he acknowledged that he had feelings for a man he’d barely met.

* * *

 

Dean himself could hardly believe that he’d worked up the courage to send that message. It wasn’t like he’d spent much time with Castiel to be able to tell what he was missing, and that was the problem-regardless of that, he did still miss him.

He missed the cute tilt of Castiel’s head when he winked at him, the way he’d lick his lips and his eyes would give away that he was thinking something dirty, the way that his glasses would smudge against Dean’s face while they were kissing and then he’d have to take them off and clean them on the hem of his shirt. He missed Castiel’s quiet manner, as though he’d prefer to be hovering in the background of his own life, and not the star of it.

It took Dean’s breath away. He liked this guy. This weird kid that he’d locked himself in the Starbucks bathroom with over half a year ago, who he’d continually sought out just to ensure that he was still on his mind. It was intoxicating. It was ridiculous.

Eventually, the rest of the band began to notice that something was up. They began to comment that Dean wasn’t catching as many girls as he used to. Benny kept asking who the new lyrics were about and Dean caught Adam giving him the side eye more than once.

So finally, on a drunken whim, Dean left the bus and went to a bar. He found a pretty girl, leaning dejectedly against the bar. He caught her eye as he slid into the seat next to ours. He signalled to the bartender for “two” and took his hat off before winking at her.

Her eyes widened nearly comically and she squeaked, “no way,” under her breath.

Dean smirked at her. “What do you say we finish these drinks and then get a room?”

She only gawped at him. “I mean...yeah, sure.”

Later that night, as he fucked her slow and gently, listening to her breathy moans, he couldn’t help but realize her pixie cut wasn’t quite short enough, and her eyes weren’t blue at all.

The next morning, Dean woke up in the hotel bedroom alone. He sighed. What was with women ditching him lately? He thought he could make up for his lack of enthusiasm in pleasure. Apparently that wasn’t going to cut it.

He showered slowly, relishing in the subtle aches in his body after a night of sex, and then put on yesterday’s clothes. He knew it’d get the rest of the band off his back, and it was about damn time.

But nothing ever went according to plan for him. Things always had a crash and burn for him, emphasis on the _burn_ part.

As he walked downstairs, he was bombarded by paparazzi and flashing cameras in his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the girl from last night excitedly talking to a reporter, gesturing wildly. He let out an annoyed huff of air and put his arms over his face, trying to dodge the people surrounding him like moths, and their shouts of questions. He heard Lisa’s name more than once.

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and called Sam. His brother answered on the third ring. “What’s up.”

“Poughkeepsie, man. SOS. 911. Get me out of here.”

There was a scuffle and Sam’s quiet, “shit. Where are you?”

“Hotel Milton. Come fast, _these goddamn paparazzi are smothering me!_ ” He shouted the last part, bringing a small wave of silence to the hotel lobby. He met the eyes of the girl from last night who was staring at him, wide-eyed. He met her doe eyes with a glare that should have had her pushing up daisies. She flinched backwards and turned back to the reporter in front of her.

Sam and Adam and Benny never really needed publicity. They were content on the bus or back home. Benny would cook Gumbo and Sam and Adam would discuss books and science. Dean’s skin would crawl with a deadly need to get out, out, out. Hence, he was always the one caught by the paparazzi. The entire public was willing to swallow the lie that the rest of the band was quiet and reclusive. Adam and Sam would roar at each other over Call of Duty and Mario Kart. Benny would sing songs while cooking dinner, his warm southern twang lighting up a room. And Dean would lean over his desk, writing furiously.

Within two days, magazines had exploited his recent sexcapade with grainy pictures, and shocking headlines. Dean received a text from Castiel that read _ufck you yu fcking lria_. His heart ached. How drunk did Castiel get to work up the courage to send that?

* * *

 

In fact, it took a quarter of a bottle of vodka and three shots of whiskey for Castiel to finally screw up the courage to send a text to Dean. Of course, it didn’t encompass any of the hurt and anger that he was feeling. If anything, it muted it, even more so due to the drunken misspellings.

He woke up the next morning, mouth dry and head throbbing. Anna brought him a glass of water and Advil. She made him French toast and tried to coax a story out of him, some kind of explanation for his drunkenness the night before.

Castiel couldn’t bring himself to give her an answer. It wasn’t like she’d believe him anyways. _Dean Winchester is a bastard who leads on innocent people and then drops them like a sack of potatoes._

Instead of talking, he cried. He ate his French toast, and nursed his hangover, silent tears rolling down his face. It was stupid, really. Dean was practically a superstar; as if he’d care about little Castiel in a small Kansas town. As if.

The next day was marginally easier. He ignored all of Dean’s pleading texts.

_Please talk to me cas._

_Let me explain._

_Were we ever actually exclusive?_

_You know what, fuck you too._

Castiel called Blake when he got out of work, and invited himself over. They drank two cases of beer and fucked each other over the back of the couch. Castiel allowed himself to numb his feelings for Dean through Blake’s harsh grunting, his soft whispers of “fuck, yeah” in Castiel’s ear.

It took a month for Castiel to really “get over” Dean. He smiled at customers and drank too much coffee. Anna bought him an easel, asking him to paint again like he used to in high school.

Suddenly, the apartment was covered in paintings. A corner of Castiel’s room was a rainbow smudge on the floor and walls around his easel. Charlie visited one day with her girlfriend and couldn’t help commenting on them all.

“Castiel, it’s like you’ve gone on a rampage.”

“It’s a good way to get feelings out,” he shrugged absently, staring at his most recent image; a fawn in a forest, eyes greener than grass.

“Can I buy one?”

He snorted at her. Gilda raised her eyebrow. “I mean, shit. You guys can just take a couple. It’s just a hobby.”

“Just a hobby,” Gilda murmured under her breath as she picked up the painting nearest to her. “Yeah, right.”

Charlie pulled Castiel aside as Gilda walked around the apartment, observing painting after painting. “Are you okay, Cas?”

Castiel gave a bright smile. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Charlie winced. “Well...Anna told me about your drunken  night a couple months ago. And that you’ve been spending a lot of time with a guy you haven’t bothered to introduce her to. And now this. Get feelings out? How many feelings do you have?”

Castiel’s face fell. He’d been doing his best to avoid this kind of conversation. “Charlie...I’m fine. I had a...fling, with someone. Recently. And then I found out he was...fucking girls behind my back. We weren’t...official, but it really hurt like hell.”

Charlie made a sympathetic noise and pulled Castiel in for a tight hug. He buried his nose in her waves of red hair, inhaling sandalwood and lavender. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” she asked.

Castiel shrugged. “It just...it didn’t feel real when we were together. I didn’t want to make it real. Quite frankly, I’d rather just forget all about it, if you will.”

Charlie nodded in understanding.

When she and Gilda left with three paintings in hand, Castiel found a fifty dollar bill on his pillows.

* * *

 

“Dude what the absolute _fuck_ is your problem?” Adam shoved at Dean, forcing him backwards. “You’ve been riding our asses for months over scheduling tour dates. Why not fucking talk to us for once?!”

“I’m trying!” Dean shouted. “Every fucking lyric I write is me talking, okay! That’s all I fucking know how to do!” his shout dwindled by the end of his sentence. He turned and walked down the hall, slamming the door to his room.

He’d never told his band the meaning behind lyrics. He came up with the words; they looped their instruments around intricate melodies. Dean would sing, Benny would jump in, then Adam, and Sam. They’d all just assumed that Dean’s lyrics came from him being a natural poet, using other people’s stories to convey his own thoughts.

A few moments later, a knock came at his door. Benny let himself in, a steaming bowl of chili in hand. He sat next to Dean on his bed, holding out the bowl as a sort of peace offering. Dean took it silently.

“You wanna talk to me about what that was out there, brother?” he asked quietly.

Dean shook his head. “I’m not sure what there is to say.”

Benny shrugged and leaned back. “Who’s blue eyes?”

Of course.

Dean’s mouth opened to reply, and like a dam, it all came spilling forward. “He’s a guy I met back in Kansas. He was cleaning the bathroom I hid in when I was waiting for Sam to come and get me. He’s...he’s such a weirdo! He’s always asking me these strange questions, like what color was my mom’s hair and what my favorite dreams are. At least, he was.”

Benny made a sound of understanding. “Til that girl called the pops on you, right?”

“Exactly. She fucked everything up,” Dean growled, fists clenching at the memory.

“Well, were you two exclusive?”

Dean sighed, swirling his spoon in the thick chili. “I mean, no. We weren’t. But I kind of wanted to be.”

“Let me guess-you never made that clear.”

Dean shook his head, taking a bite of the chili. The flavor exploded across his tongue, spicy enough to make him hiss as he swallowed it down. “And now I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me. We’ve been doing this back and forth dance with each other for...forever!”

“Why not go find him again?”

“He’ll punch me,” Dean deadpanned. “I have no doubt about that.”

“Then let ‘im!” Benny cried. “Lord knows you deserve it. But try to talk to him, maybe?”

Naturally, that was a horrible idea.

Dean found himself texting Castiel again after two months of radio silence. At first, Castiel was hesitant to reply, giving Dean short, one-worded answers. And then one day, Dean found himself in Kansas again. They’d stopped the bus so they could sleep, so naturally, Dean had to find Castiel again.

He called him this time.

“Hello?” Castiel’s voice was rough with sleep.

“Hey,” Dean’s voice was light, casual. “Can I pick you up?”

“Dean, it’s nearly eleven at night.”

“Yeah...yeah, I know. I just...I need to see you.”

Castiel sighed heavily, and almost unwillingly gave Dean his address.

Dean arrived closer to midnight, and drove them to a nearby hotel. He kept glancing at Castiel in the passenger seat. He was wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, and looked like he was fighting sleep again. His glasses were crooked and slipping down his nose and it was so cute it made Dean’s heart skip for just a moment.

They got to the hotel and the person behind the counter merely raised an eyebrow when Dean said, “one night, please.” In the elevator, he carefully took Castiel’s hand into his own. Castiel gave him a look that was almost sad.

The minute they were in the room, Dean didn’t bother turning on the lights. He backed Castiel against the closed door and kissed him, putting every bit of passion found in his songs into that single kiss. He felt Castiel’s legs buckle and looped his arms around his waist. Castiel gave a breathy moan, gaining his wits to kiss Dean back.

Dean groaned and lifted Castiel enough to loop his legs around his waist. He backed up, staggering in the general direction of the bed. He found it just a moment too late as his knees backed into the side of it and he toppled backwards, Castiel falling on top of him. They both huffed out a small laugh before Castiel’s hands were quickly undoing Dean’s shirt, allowing the sides to fall open to reveal his chest. Castiel stared for a moment and ran his hands over the expanse of tanned skin, tweaking Dean’s nipples just a bit. Beneath him, Dean flinched. Castiel could feel his boner pressing up at his ass through his pants. His hips were rolling ever so slightly, enough to cause the pressure beneath Castiel’s skin to rise in a jolting way.

He leaned back down to catch Dean’s mouth in a kiss, gentler than their previous. Beneath him, Dean groaned, his hands tightening around Castiel’s hips.He rocked upwards, feeling Castiel’s lips part on a gasp, allowing Dean’s tongue to sweep in.

Dean swept his hands up Castiel’s back, shoving the hoodie off of him, over his shoulders. Tan skin was revealed little by little to him. “Who was she?” Castiel gasped as he fell forward to suckle at Dean’s neck.

For a moment Dean froze, and then his body relaxed under Castiel’s ministrations. “I dunno,” he murmured. “She...she didn’t matter. I still can’t stop thinking about you.”

Castiel pulled away from Dean to hastily undo his pants and yank them down his legs. Dean struggled for a moment and then kicked them off to the floor. Castiel undid his own pants, maintaining eye contact as he threw them to the floor.

He was angry, he was distracted, he was hurting and he wanted to fuck Dean so hard that he couldn’t make it up the steps on his bus later. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.” He met Dean in a violent kiss, fingers tangling at the back of Dean’s head, grasping it tightly.

Their dicks met in a slick slide and Dean groaned, his voice low and tight in his throat. “I’m sorry,” he cried, rocking his hips up. “I want… I want something with you. God, Cas, I really do.”

“Then why’d you fucking do it?” Castiel growled, biting down on Dean’s pulse point, relishing in the gasp it caused.

“Like you didn’t?”

Castiel licked lightly, grinding his hips down. He didn’t bother confirming nor denying the accusation. “Let me fuck you.” Dean’s eyes rolled back in his head and he nodded frantically, sits curling over Castiel’s hips.

“In my pants…”

Castiel gave one last dirty grind before getting up. “Were you just assuming I’d put out tonight?” he asked, digging through Dean’s pants

Dean was starting to catch his breath. “I’d hoped.”

Castiel came back to the bed, a packet of lube and a condom in hand. Now that the heady sexual charge had begun to ease off, it was a little easier to breathe, to think this through. He, Castiel Milton, was about to fuck Dean Winchester.

The thought made his heart beat erratically. Over the past few weeks, he’d been entertaining the idea quite a bit, even though he thought he was “over” Dean. And then he remembered he was supposed to be mad at him. His paintings displayed the internal war in bright colors, blended and dancing around one another.

“Get on your stomach,” Castiel demanded.

Dean’s eyes widened a fraction before he was scrambling to roll over, pulling his shirt off in the process.

Castiel grabbed the back of Dean’s head as he straddled his legs. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you’re going to be wobbly for a week. You’re gonna sit down and feel me and you’re going to remember this.”

Dean nodded, whimpering slightly. He wasn’t sure how Castiel managed to open the lube, or if he just lost focus somewhere, but suddenly there was a slick finger nudging at his entrance and he groaned with anticipation, trying to rock his hips backwards.

Castiel wasn’t having any of it though. His finger continued to lightly circle occasionally pushing a little bit at the puckered muscle, watching the muscles in Dean’s back ripple. Without warning, he lightly allowed the first inch or so of his finger enter. Dean gasped, and then sighed, appeased in the slightest way. Castiel teased him with that one finger for a little while before gently nudging another one inside, carefully scissoring them. Dean moaned, pressing his face into the pillows, his hands clenching around the sheets.

It wasn’t until Dean could take four fingers that Castiel asked him, “think you’re ready?”

“God, _yes_!” Dean cried, verging on exasperated. “Jesus Cas I’ve thought about you fucking me enough as it is. Just get _inside of me_!”

Castiel lined his cockhead up with Dean’s hole, circling it a little bit, his own breath coming in tiny huffs. With a moan, Dean’s hand was suddenly between his legs, fingers circling Castiel’s dick. Dean lined him up and then shoved back, forcing Castiel to bottom out in one fell swoop. They both cried out, Dean’s whole body trembling and Castiel struggling not to come from the very sensation of being inside, Dean’s warm heat wrapped tightly around him.

“Fuck,” he whispered, hands running along Dean’s sides. “Why would you…”

“I fucking told you,” Dean grunted, “to fuck me.”

Castiel growled at the brief power transference before pulling back, watching his dick inch out of Dean little by little before thrusting his hips forward. He grinned animalistically at Dean’s punched out little moan.

He set a brutal, unforgiving pace, arms locked around Dean’s chest as he fucked into him. Their skin became slick with sweat, the room stinking of sweat and sex. It was intoxicating. Being inside of Dean was going to turn him into an addict.

Not only that, but the sounds Dean was making were almost better than when he was singing. He was occasionally muffled by the pillow beneath him, turning his head to the side to gasp and cry out.

Castiel rocked forward and held his hips to Dean’s ass, circling them and grinding until Dean clenched around him, wailing into his pillow. _There it is_. Castiel smirked darkly, loving every sound he managed to pull from Dean. Without a doubt, he’d be hoarse the next day, forced to either make an excuse or come clean to his band where he was tonight.

The power made his head swim.

It only took a few minutes of the harsh grind Castiel had started for Dean’s breath to start coming in short little bursts. Every time he clenched, it was a massage to Castiel’s dick, punching a sob of pleasure from him. Beneath him, Dean was writhing, hips undulating over the bed, getting minimal friction from the sheets.

Castiel finally took pity on him and reached around. He gently wrapping his fingers around Dean’s dick, stroking him slowly. Dean’s shout startled him, causing his rhythm to stutter for a moment before he kept up the grinding, hearing Dean’s short whimpers every time his cockhead brushed his prostate.

In another minute, Dean was whining, body shaking as he finally gasped out, “Cas...Cas I’m gonna...I’m so fucking _close_!”

Dean clenched around him one more time and that was it. Game over for Castiel. He sped his hand up around Dean’s dick, collapsing over him as orgasm shook through his bones, lightning dancing up his spine. Dean cried out and ropes of come blurted between Castiel’s fingers and onto the sheets below. They both moved together, bodies shivering, slipping on each other before Dean heaved a sigh, and tilted them both over to the side.

They landed softly on the rumpled bed sheets, both breathing heavy. A peaceful fog was settling over Dean’s mind as the last dregs of orgasm washed over him.

The hotel room was silent and dark, save for the single street lamp that bathed the room in a warm orange glow. Dean’s face was silhouetted against the pillows, long lashes resting against his cheeks.

Castiel caressed down his cheekbone, fingertips gliding down the scruff of his chin. “Can we not do that again?” he whispered.

Dean opened one eye, regarding Castiel carefully. “What, fuck?”

Castiel snorted, smiling. “No. I mean...the dumb shit that led up to fucking.”

Dean pouted. “But it led to fucking!”

“Yeah but...I want you, okay? I tried not to, but I do. And I can’t keep playing these cat and mouse games with you. You can’t just pick me up at midnight and fuck me senseless, only to jump the next girl that gets your attention on tour.” He closed his eyes, sucking on his cheeks. Here was the part that Dean told him to fuck off, that he was out of his mind, that-

“Okay.”

Castiel opened one eye to see Dean propped up on one elbow, regarding him carefully.

“Okay?”

Dean nodded. “I want to get to know you. I want to know why you have glasses and why you ask me the _weirdest_ questions I’ve ever heard in my life and how you got this scar,” he ran a finger over Castiel’s shoulder. “You make me want things I never thought I could have. And it’s fucking terrifying.

Castiel winced. “I want you. And I’m not sure yet if I can have you. I can’t...I can’t be a dirty little secret. Dean, I won’t do that. So...if you’re looking for a partner you can fuck in the shadows, it’s not me.” The words hurt to say, but he refused to be taken advantage of.

Dean’s hand rested over Castiel’s heart. “I can be loyal,” he said. “Lisa and I were together for…” he scrubbed a hand over his face. “Damn. For a long time. I’m loyal nearly to a fault. I just...I didn’t think you wanted to be exclusive, you know? I’m in a fucking band.” The thought was still bewildering to him. He thought they’d spend the rest of their career playing from people’s garages or local bars. “I thought you’d want some Harvard guy to come home to every night and shit.”

Castiel laughed, his shoulders shaking. “You very obviously do not know me, Dean Winchester.”

Dean grinned at him. “But I’d like to.”

* * *

Castiel never bought tabloids. He often glanced at them in line at the grocery store and chuckled under his breath, wondering who came up with the headlines. But this time, he picked one up to buy.

He was on the cover of it.

It was a grainy photo of he and Dean kissing on stage after his last local show. The headline read, “Dean Winchester, GAY?! How do his band mates feel about this? Who is the mystery man?”

Castiel laughed as he threw it up onto the conveyor belt with his other groceries. The photo was taken a week ago. Just yesterday, Castiel had kissed Dean for the last time for two months, right before Dean left with his band for their Southeastern tour. It was comical, the way the writers couldn’t figure out where Castiel came from or Dean’s (not so) sudden interest in him.

The clerk looked bored as he scanned Castiel’s items. It was the same look he got after a long day of making latte’s and americano’s.  The clerk looked up to tell Castiel his total and then paused.

He carefully pulled the magazine from the bag, and held it up in front of him, cocking his head to the side. “You’re him,” he murmured in amazement.

Castiel pursed his lips, rocking back on his heels. He would never understand the secondary fame that being with Dean gave him. “Um, yeah. That’s me. Is that conceited?” he blurted, suddenly worried. “Is it weird that I’m buying a tabloid with my own face on it? That’s creepy right? _Fuck_.”

The guy laughed. “Man, it is fucking awesome. Wait til I tell my girlfriend that I met Dean Winchester’s _boyfriend_!” He put the magazine back in the bag as Castiel swiped his card through the reader. “Say, how did you two end up together, anyways?”

Castiel smiled a little bit, running a hand through his hair. “We, uh. We just kept coming back to each other. Somehow. And then one time, it just stuck. And here we are,” he shrugged, blushing a little bit.

The clerk nodded appreciatively. “That’s fucking cool, man. Hey, you have a good day, alright?”

Castiel smiled at him. “Thank you.”

When he opened the newspaper later to the article, he was laughing so hard, tears were rolling down his cheeks.

_What new style of love is_ this _, for Mr. Winchester? Will it last?_

Castiel wiped his face. If it was anything like the entirety of their relationship, it definitely would.

* * *

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=2lj0osi)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are the air I breathe, so please share your thoughts :)  
> If you're interested in who did the artwork, it was the lovely [Ara Claire](http://arasiriel.tumblr.com/). She is amazing and wonderful and her fics and artwork are to die for.  
> Follow me on [tumblr](http://veganasana.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/VitaminDesi)


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